


If Home is Where The Heart is, Then My Home is Little

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: ABDL, CG/L, Caregiver/little, Daddy Dom/ little boy, Dd/lb, Diapers, Established Relationship, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sex in Littlespace, Srar era, Subspace, but not sexually, little!Pete, littlespace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 08:22:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17525192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It’s not something he’s told anyone about, being a little. Pete’s part of the most vulnerable group of people in the BDSM community: littles, and nobody knows, not even Patrick, his boyfriend, his lover, the person he tells absolutely everything. Patrick doesn’t know that when he’s gone and Pete’s alone, he regresses. He has a stash of diapers, pacifiers, onesies, and stuffies in a box under a bunch of old clothes in the closet that he digs out whenever he falls into that safe place that is littlespace, and all of the stress of life seems to disappear whenever he regresses...until Patrick finds him one day, curled up, asleep on the bed, wearing a onesie and a diaper, with a pacifier in his mouth, and a teddy bear in his arms.





	1. I May Not Be A Kid, But I’m Still Not Alright

**Author's Note:**

> I will start out by saying this: I do not own Fall Out Boy or any of its affiliates. This is a work of fiction, please treat it as such. I continue by saying this: DD/lb and any other variations of CG/l are NOT pedophilia. These people are consenting adults, the dom, or Daddy, in this situation is not aroused by the idea of their sub being a literal child, but by the idea of innocence, and naughty curiosity and the idea of submission, the power exchange. Please, don’t call this pedophilia. ABDL and CG/l are NOT pedophilia. Don’t get crazy in the comments. This is fiction.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete had first gone into what he now knew as littlespace when he was sixteen. He was stressed and wound tight as a drum, home alone for the day. He was trying to figure out what he could do to calm down, relax a bit, when he just...slipped. His head went a bit foggy. He sucked his thumb. He played with his toes. He babbled to himself and stared at the ceiling. He watched cartoons, albeit grown-up ones, on TV. It took him three or four hours to finally get back to himself, and when that happened, he lost his shit. He did some research (and watched some really, really weird porn) and learned that this...place was called “littlespace,” and lots of people experienced it. Pete’s problem was that nobody knew he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not an experienced Dom or Mommy. If I am presenting or doing something wrong, please say so. I am not a little, I have never regressed, so I don’t know much about littlespace as a whole. Please don’t criticize me too roughly.

     Pete had regressed since he was sixteen years old.

     Of course, he didn’t know what it was back then. It took him three times in littlespace and two months to actually do some research and find out what was happening.

     Pete had first gone into what he now knew as littlespace when he was sixteen. He was stressed and wound tight as a drum, home alone for the day. He was trying to figure out what he could do to calm down, relax a bit, when he just...slipped. His head went a bit foggy. He sucked his thumb. He played with his toes. He babbled to himself and stared at the ceiling. He watched cartoons, albeit grown-up ones, on TV. It took him three or four hours to finally get back to himself, and when that happened, he lost his shit. He did some research (and watched some really, really weird porn) and learned that this...place was called “littlespace,” and lots of people experienced it. Pete’s problem was that nobody knew he did. 

     Well, that wasn’t  _entirely_ true. During his brief and chaotic marriage with Ashlee, he revealed to her that he was a little, and played between 2 and 3. She tried desperately to be a good caregiver for him, and really, she was a good Mommy, but she couldn’t give him everything, and couldn’t really get into the kink itself. When the relationship ended, Pete went into an odd time of both extreme “little droughts” and spending literally days on end in littlespace, unsure where to be when he felt worst. Luckily, that didn’t last long, but, still, Pete regarded it as one of the worst periods in his life. Sometimes he still had to remind himself to take care of big Pete before he took care of little Pete.

     And then he got Patrick back. They never really dated, were fuckbuddies more than lovers, and they stopped fucking when Pete married Ashlee because she thought she was pregnant. But Patrick was back, and they were free to date and say they loved each other and be together and Pete didn’t have to worry about fucking anything up. Pete felt like he could tell Patrick everything...except for being a little.

     It was one of those rare days since they finished touring for Save Rock and Roll when Patrick was going out and Pete was staying home for the day. The second Patrick was gone, Pete went into the closet and dug out that big, beat-up box full of all his baby essentials. From onesies to stuffies and a rattle, diapers to sippy cups and pacifiers, Pete had a decent collection of baby stuff, but it wasn’t what some people had. He felt kind of like an asshole for wanting more than he had, and for keeping everything from Patrick, but Pete was grateful for what he had.

     He pulled on a diaper (he’d have to get more, his stash was running low), his favorite Halloween-themed onesie and matching fuzzy socks, pulled out a teddy bear and a pacifier before he let himself slip. The world became fuzzy. He felt so  _small,_ suddenly, so safe, and he felt his stress melt away. He grabbed the pacifier next to him and sucked it into his mouth, calming even more at the soothing presence in his mouth. He clutched the stuffy bear to his chest, letting himself feel small for the first time in what felt like forever.

     Pete switched on the TV to Family Guy, little Pete’s favorite show. Still cartoony enough to satisfy his little self, just gross and adult enough to satisfy his big self, and the naughty curiosity little Pete felt. He giggled at all of the jokes, even the bad ones, suckling harder at his pacifier and falling deeper into headspace. He brought his feet up to his face, tugging at his toes. Tootsies. Toesies. Feet were so funny, and they were stinky, too. His paci fell out of his mouth, and a small, high-pitched “Bye-bye,” when it rolled down his cheek, leaving a trail of spit. 

     His fingers tasted really weird, but his paci fell out and he needed something to suck on. He grabbed at his toes with his other hand, bending them and playing with his feet. Happy little gurgles left his mouth, and drool slipped out around his fingers. Tootsies!

     A loud slam caught his attention. “Pete? I’m home! Joe got really sick, so Andy had to take him home. You alright?” No. Definitely not alright. He shot up off the bed, stripping off the onesie, grabbing the paci-no, pacifier. He needed to get out of headspace, and fast. He needed to start thinking like someone his own age again. 

     He was barely able to get his diaper in the trash under several layers of revaluation garbage before Patrick came back in to find Pete in just his underwear. He snorted, saying, “Pete, I swear to god, if you don’t start wearing at least  _something_ to sleep you’re going to freeze to death,” Pete smiled shyly, still halfway in headspace, replying, “Yeah, yeah, as if you mind,” Patrick raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

     Pete watched as Patrick went into the bathroom and breathed a sigh of relief. He was coming out of headspace faster, now, and no longer had the burning urge to go to Patrick when he came out of the bathroom and crawl into his lap and suck his thumb and call Patrick Daddy. Not that Patrick would probably think a thing of it, he’d just push Pete off and laugh about it. Pete didn’t think little Pete could take that kind of rejection. 

     As he tugged his normal clothes back on, Pete wondered how Patrick would react if he found out Pete was a little. Would he freak out? Would he even know what the term “little” meant in this capacity? Would he ever be willing to be Pete’s Daddy? Would he be willing to learn? Would he...call Pete a pedophile? Would he yell and scream and cuss and tell Pete to go, get out of his house and out of his hand? Would he be disgusted with Pete? Would he-

     “Pete, you’re beating yourself up over something. Stop it, you know I hate it when you do stuff like that,”

     Patrick’s voice caught Pete by surprise, making him jump away. “No, no, I’m fine-“

     “No, you’re not. Pete, I’ve known you for over a decade. I know you better than I know myself,” Patrick sighed. “Pete. You can tell me anything, you know that, right? I won’t judge you. Come on. Tell me,” Patrick sat down on the bed and motioned for Pete to sit next to him.

     Pete sat on the bed, tucking his feet under his butt. They went numb instantly, but it was possibly the most comfortable position he could be in, especially because he could cuddle right up to Patrick. Patrick wrapped an arm around Pete’s shoulder and pulled Pete closer to his chest, running a soothing hand up and down the older’s man’s shoulder. “Just...I don’t know, Patrick. I guess that’s what it is. I don’t understand my own brain. It’s...it’s so confusing. I can’t think anymore. I’m...I’m sorry, Patrick,”  _sorry for lying to you._  

     “No, don’t...don’t be sorry, Pete. That’s not something you can control. It’s alright...” Patrick planted a little kiss on top of Pete’s head, and just from that Pete felt himself slip a little.

____

     Pete went to bed unusually early that night, Patrick noticed, well before midnight. He actually slept, too, didn’t toss and turn and eventually give up and get on his phone like usual. No, light, almost imperceptible snoring left him, and Patrick felt warmth rise in his chest at the sight.

     After their conversation in the bedroom, Pete was unusually clingy, and with Pete, that was saying something. He hardly left Patrick’s side all day, and only went to bed when Patrick went to shower. His eyes were weirdly unfocused, too, as if he was sinking into his own head. Patrick had the strangest feeling something serious was going on with Pete, but he wasn’t sure how to go about investigating.

     At around one in the morning, Patrick went into the bedroom. Pete was still sound asleep, a lump of soft snoring and little snorts of laughter under the covers. Patrick was just about to join him when he noticed something: the closet door was open, just a crack. Pete  _hated_ having  the closet door open, it made him feel like he was losing his mind, so having it open, so casually, raised red flags in Patrick’s brain. 

     Careful not to wake Pete, Patrick opened the closet door all the way. Everything looked fine, with all of Pete’s ridiculous designer clothes in their place and all of Patrick’s, well, dad fashion was in its place. Shoes were strewn across the closet floor, as usual, as were clothes that they didn’t wear anymore, whether that be clothes that didn’t fit anymore (Patrick), clothes that made the wearer sad (Pete), or clothes who weren’t sure who their owners were (Pete and Patrick.) Nothing seemed to be out of place-

     Wait. 

     That big, old (emphasis on old) cardboard box wasn’t there before.

      Feeling guilty for snooping, but unable to leave the box be, Patrick grabbed his phone and turned on the flashlight, careful to set it to the lowest setting so as not to wake Pete. He didn’t know what to expect when he opened the box. Maybe pictures of Ashlee or, god forbid, Jeanae, maybe pictures or little love letters from his brief fling with Mikey Way, or maybe even some kind of weird sex toys.

     He didn’t expect sippy cups, giant-sized baby pacifiers, a giant-sized rattle, a ratty teddy bear, and adult-sized baby onesies. 

     He sure as hell didn’t expect adult-sized baby diapers. And these diapers, they weren’t like the plain adult diapers and bladder underwear he sometimes saw at the drugstore. No, these had trains and planes and cartoon characters on them, with patters on what Patrick assumed to be the sticky parts. He didn’t know; he’d only ever encountered actual baby diapers. 

     What...what was all this? Was one of Pete’s former girlfriends into this? Was  _Pete_ into this? Patrick’s hands shook as he rifled through the box, and shook even more as he pulled out a pacifier with beadwork on the loop, and the beads read “Good Baby” in blue lettering.  Feeling himself gag softly, he stuffed the pacifier back into the box. Obviously it was one of the fancier ones, as most of the other pacifiers were simple and plain. Why...why didn’t Pete tell him?

     Patrick shoved the box back into its hiding place. His mouth felt dry. Obviously these things were Pete’s, judging from the size and all of the Halloween-themed stuff, but...why hadn’t Pete said anything? Was he...embarrassed? Ha! There’s a thought, Pete Wentz, embarrassed! Patrick ran a hand down his face, resisting the urge to let out a hysterical giggle and wake Pete. 

     Pete knew he could tell Patrick anything, so maybe...this was old stuff he couldn’t let go of? That he maybe didn’t want Patrick to know about? Deciding that that was probably what it was (denydenydeny), Patrick decided to leave it, not question Pete about it. Poor guy had enough on his mind anyway.

     Just as he shut the closet door, Pete woke up with a soft, “Hmmmm? ‘Trick?” His voice was groggy and thick with sleep. Patrick froze. “Yeah, Pete?” 

     “Come to bed. Wanna cudddle,” Pete sounded strangely small. “I was going to, Pete, just give me a minute,” Patrick said, slowly stripping out of his day clothes and changing into sweatpants and an old t-shirt. As he crawled into bed, Pete tucked into his chest and curled up into a tiny ball. Patrick heard something like “Patty” leave his mouth. “If you ever call me Patty again, I will rip up your favorite shirt,” Pete just whined and cuddled closer, wrapping his arms around Patrick and looking just...  _small._

     Sometimes, Patrick wondered if Pete was ever alright. If he was really alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Also, I’m currently in hospital recovering from influenza, so if my update schedule is inconsistent, Im sick as all crap. Get your flu shots, kids. Don’t be like me. Do as I say, and not as I do.


	2. I Don’t Blame You For Being You, But You Can’t Blame me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Pete...” Pete curled up a little tighter on the bed, clutching the teddy bear tighter to his chest, still not waking. Judging from how comfortable he looked, he hadn’t planned on waking up for a while. His baby blue onesie was stained with drool from where his pacifier had fallen out of his mouth, and Patrick wasn’t sure whether to feel disgusted or endeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from “A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More “Touch Me”” by Fall Out Boy.

     Patrick seemed to be on edge for the next few days. He jumped whenever Pete entered the room, was even more paranoid about the closet than Pete, and never wanted to fuck, which honestly was saying something. Pete always wondered how everyone thought Patrick was so innocent, then remembered how he acted on camera.

     It was almost two weeks before they were back to normal, meaning Patrick wasn’t so nervous about the closet, wasn’t so jumpy, and he was fucking Pete into the mattress again. 

     During those two weeks, though, Pete didn’t have any time to fully regress. He found himself slipping into littlespace in the shower or in the car when Patrick was driving or, strangest of all, when he was writing music with the rest of the guys. He’d throw tantrums, stomp away like a child, then go outside and cry because he’d been so childish, even though Pete  _knew_ little Pete was just embarrassed for acting like such a baby in front of his grown-up friends. He was very careful to clean his face up before going back in, and forced himself out of headspace. The guys were worried, especially Patrick, but Pete just made up a bullshit excuse he knew nobody believed, but nobody wanted to question.

     About three or four days after things went back to being normal (or as normal as things can be with Pete and Patrick), Patrick got sick. “I probably caught whatever Joe has,” he said, and refused to go to the doctor. After three days of major headaches, minor fever, nausea, and damn near hacking up a lung, Patrick threw up and finally relented and went to the doctor. Alone.

     Which meant that Pete could finally regress.

     His Halloween onesie had a mysterious stain on it, and he made a mental note to wash it whenever he managed to crawl out of littlespace, so he grabbed a simple baby blue one and a rather plain diaper, that might have honestly just been an adult incontinence diaper, not an ABDL one, but it would work. Plus, he was trying to save his cute ones. As he wrapped himself in the diaper and onesie his mind wandered to Patrick. What kind of Daddy would he be? Would he be the kind of Daddy who gave cruel punishments and kind rewards? Would he spank hard and fuck harder? Would he give Pete lots of sweets or make him eat his veggies? Would he change Pete’s diapers or make Pete do it himself? Would he be a nice, kindhearted, forgiving Daddy or a Daddy who gave rules and kept them strictly? He sucked the paci into his mouth, his favorite one that said “Good Baby” on the loop, and grabbed his stuffy, cuddling it into his chest. He hoped that maybe one day, he’d find out what kind of Daddy Patrick would be, but that would mean revealing his status as a little, and Pete didn’t know if he’d ever be able to do that. 

     He let himself slip. The world got fuzzy again, and he felt himself fall deeper into littlespace than he had in a while. He felt  _tiny,_ felt small and safe and...pretty! That blue book on the shelf was such a pretty blue! Pete walked over to it and pulled it off the shelf, a small noise of discomfort leaving him at the weight. Why was it so heavy? He didn’t like heavy things. The cover said “Eragon,” and it had a picture of a dragon on the front, but if someone were to ask him what it said right now, he’d tell them he couldn’t read and then giggle and gurgle and shove the book in their face. 

     As he flipped through the pages, Pete scowled when he realized there were no pictures. Little Pete liked books that had pictures, because little Pete couldn’t read yet, and the pictures helped him understand. Pete closed the book again and grabbed his teddy, staring at the book cover. That dragon was so cool. Maybe he could be a dragon and fly around. That would be awesome! He put the book back on the shelf and shot to his feet, running back and forth across the room and making dragon noises that were muffled by his paci.

     Soon, though, he tired himself out from running around. He collapsed into the bed, muttering, “Dizzy...” he stared at the ceiling as the patterns in the plaster spun around, reminding him of the books he used to read with his old Mommy. There were so many pretty shapes. “Pretty...” he said, muffled by his paci as he reached up with both his arms and his legs to try and reach the pretty patterns. He yawned around his paci, bringing his legs back to his torso with his hands and then grabbing his stuffy bear again. He looked over to check the clock. Patrick would be home within the hour, but...could it really hurt to take a little nap? And the bed was so comfy and soft...

     Pete was asleep before he could even finish his thought.

_____

     Apparently an ear infection can do some weird shit. A doctor’s appointment and fifteen minutes waiting at a Walgreen’s later, Patrick was back in the car and driving back home. As he drove, his mind wandered to Pete. How was he doing? Was he sick? Were ear infections contagious? Could he get Pete sick somehow? Patrick shook the thoughts out of his head as the light turned green, and he headed home.

     As he unlocked the door, he was greeted by a familiar overly excited bulldog. “Hey, Hemmy. Where’s Pete, huh? Where is he?” Hemmy just barked and ran back into the kitchen, assumingly to stare at his bowl in an attempt to get Patrick to feed him. Patrick just smiled and called out, “Pete? I’m home!” No response. Maybe Pete was in the bathroom? Or sleeping? “Pete?” He said louder. Nothing.

     Concerned, Patrick went upstairs to their bedroom. He knew Pete would never try to...try to take his own life again, but something nagged at the back of his mind like an irritating bug. “Pete?” Patrick knocked on the door. Not a peep. “Pete, are you alright?” No sound. “Pete, please tell me you’re wearing something, because I’m coming in!” Nothing. Patrick opened the door and almost screamed in fear at what he saw. Pete was taking a nap, nothin new for the insomniac, but... he’d never worn a baby onesie and diaper to sleep. 

      “Pete...” Pete curled up a little tighter on the bed, clutching the teddy bear tighter to his chest, still not waking. Judging from how comfortable he looked, he hadn’t planned on waking up for a while. His baby blue onesie was stained with drool from where his pacifier, the one that said “Good Baby” on it, had fallen out of his mouth, and Patrick wasn’t sure whether to feel disgusted or endeared. 

     “Daddyyyyyyyyy...” Pete mumbled in his sleep, his feet twitching as if he were chasing rabbits. “Wan plaaayyyy...” his voice was small, soft, lisping, and high-pitched, like the voice of a toddler. His arms twitched and his teddy bear fell out of his grip. With shaking hands, Patrick picked it up and examined it. It was old, possibly Pete’s teddy bear from when he was an actual child. One of its eyes was missing, and there were a few holes from which stuffing fell out.

     “Pete...” he said again quietly, before finally he snapped. “Pete! Get up!” He dropped the teddy bear onto the floor and began shaking Pete’s shoulder. Slowly, his whisky eyes opened and focused on him, then widened in fear. Tears sprung up and Pete started wailing, jumping off the bed and running into the bathroom. “Pete! Pete, are you okay? Come on, talk to me!” 

      “No! Go ‘way!” His voice was still small, but he seemed to be coming back to himself. “Pete, come on, we need to talk about this!” 

     “Nooooooooooooo!” Pete’s voice was loud and high-pitched, like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Pete, come on...” Patrick banged his head against the door. “Pete...we need to talk about this!” There was some sniffling, followed by a soft, “Jus’ gimme minute,” Patrick rested his hand on the door and said, “Okay, Pete. Okay,”

     There was some rustling of fabric, followed by the sound of a sticky diaper being undone, and then a soft, “Shit...” from Pete. The trash can lid was opened and Patrick assumed the diaper was dropped in. The door opened and there was Pete, in just the onesie now, and, Patrick just noticed, the pacifier was clipped to the collar of the onesie. Pete looked like he’d been crying; his face was red and his eyes were puffy and his nose was running. Patrick wasn’t sure if he wanted to hug him and tell him it’d be alright or if he wanted to run away and stay with Andy or Joe for a few weeks until he forgot all about this.

     “I’m...I’m sorry...” Pete reached up to play with his pacifier clip. He looked like he wanted to put it in his mouth. “Pete...don’t...don’t be sorry. Come here,” Patrick opened his arms and Pete stepped into them, attempting to bury his face in Patrick’s chest even though he was taller. “Just...please tell me what...this is. Please,” Pete looked at Patrick with watery eyes, like he might cry at any minute. “O-okay,” He stammered, before going and sitting on the bed.

     Pete grabbed the teddy bear and clutched it to his chest. “Sit,” He said, patting the space next to him. Patrick sat, wrapping an arm around Pete’s shoulders. Pete seemed to debate for a moment, before grabbing the pacifier and sucking it into his mouth. He seemed instantly calmer. “Pete?” Patrick asked. Pete looked at him with big eyes, the pacifier still in his mouth. Finally giving in, Patrick reached out and pulled the pacifier out of Pete’s mouth and asked, “What is this?” Pete wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and swallowed. 

     “Tricky, you know...you know BDSM, right?” Pete’s voice was halfway between his normal one and the one Patrick heard when he was in the bathroom. “Yeah, but what does that shit have to do with-“

     “This...this,” he gestured at the onesie, the pacifier clip, the teddy bear, “This is a branch of BDSM. The...the diapers, I’m...I’m an ABDL. It means...it means adult baby diaper lover. I’m...I’m what’s known as a little. I go into a headspace called littlespace. Basically, I...regress, in a way. I go back into the headspace of a two-year-old, kind of. I’m still there, it’s still...still me in there, and I can control it. I just...need some time to get out of littlespace. I’m kinda still there now,” Pete cuddled the bear to his chest. “And the reason this is...this is considered part of BDSM is because...little me has a naughty sexual curiosity,” Patrick tensed. Did that make this...paedophilia? 

     “I can tell what you’re thinking, and no, this isn’t paedophilia. This helps me relieve stress. And the whole sex thing...it’s just part of it for me,” Patrick felt Pete shiver and he tightened his grip. “I’ve never...I’ve never really told anyone this. Except Ashlee, and she couldn’t... it wasn’t for her. She was a great Mommy, but she couldn’t get into the kink,” Pete played with his pacifier. 

     Patrick was unsure of how to take all of this. When he first saw all of the baby stuff in the box, he thought nothing of it. Now...now it made sense. All of it did. Pete throwing tantrums during practices, even all those years ago. The few times Patrick caught Pete sucking his thumb. “So...Ashlee was...your...Mommy?” Pete nodded and sucked the pacifier back into his mouth. Patrick could see him slipping back into “littlespace” as he called it, and he didn’t know what to do. “So...how do you want me to...to...” Patrick trailed off. “You don’t have to...” Pete muttered around his pacifier. “It’s just...I want to help, but I don’t know how. Just...give me time, Pete. Give me time to sort myself out,” Pete curled further into Patrick’s chest and spat out the pacifier. “M’kay,” He said, and Patrick could tell he was gone.

     He didn’t know what to do, but he knew he had to do something. He set Pete down on the bed and walked out, leaving Pete to sort himself out. He’d never heard of any of these things, but he wanted to help. He just want sure how. Pete was probably worried Patrick hated him or thought he was a pedophile, but...Patrick just hoped he knew better than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


	3. Syrup is Still Syrup in a Sippy Cup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Pete, are you drunk?”  
> “Noooooo!”  
> Pete’s voice was high and whiny. “Pete, come on, you’re drunk, let’s go to bed,’”  
> “Nooooooooo!”  
> “....How old are you?”  
> “NOOOOOOOOOO!”  
> Patrick got worried faster than he ever thought possible. Pete was almost nonverbal. He technically wasn’t Pete’s Daddy, but if he knew one thing, it was that Pete never regressed this far, not unless something was horribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from “Sippy Cup” by Melanie Martinez.

     Pete had gotten used to Patrick seeing him in littlespace pretty easily. It had been three weeks since Patrick first found out that he was a little, and he was already more comfortable with Patrick being around little Pete than Ashlee. Sometimes, he’d dig out his play-dough and make Patrick little treats that Patrick would take with an awkward smile, unsure of how to handle little Pete just yet.

     Pete regressed more often, now, and Patrick would leave almost every time. He was free to leave his diapers in the trash and not have to hide them, and wear onesies in the bedroom without fear. Patrick left every time he walked in on little Pete. Luckily, he hadn’t taken to calling Patrick Daddy, but he could feel it coming on soon. He already called him “Tricky!” And “Pat-Pat!” On an almost daily basis.

     It was unclear how Patrick was handling the situation. On one hand, he never seemed actively uncomfortable around little Pete, but he usually also left the second he saw little Pete.

     At first, Pete went into a little drought, and didn’t go into headspace for a full week and a half, but when he finally eased back in, he felt...safe. He felt  _right._ He felt like he could be little without fear. Pete even started shaving his arms, legs, and chest again to feel more little, and Patrick...didn’t question it.

     Everything seemed fine and dandy, and Patrick even seemed to grow more comfortable around little Pete, occasionally playing with him and feeding him his meals, but then Pete fucked up. Pete majorly fucked up.    

     Pete called Patrick Daddy.

     It wasn’t on purpose. He didn’t mean to call Patrick Daddy. They were sitting on the carpet in the bedroom, playing with Pete’s play-dough. Pete had made Patrick a snake, rolled the pink play-dough into a log and moved it around like a snake, making little hissing noises around his paci. “Snek!” He’d lisped out, moving his snake along Patrick’s thigh. “Yeah, a snake,”  Pete shook his head, “No, is  _snek!_ ” Patrick let an awkward smile show through, “Okay, Petey, it’s a snek. Wanna give your snek some eyes? Some nice...some nice orange eyes?” Patrick rolled two tiny orange balls from his container of play-dough and stuck them to Pete’s snake. “Noo! He want...he want...” Pete searched around his few colors of play-dough before saying, “Snek want geen! He want geen eyeballs!” Pete grabbed the container of brown play-dough. Patrick’s smile became genuine. “Pete, that’s brown, not green,” Pete frowned, before shaking his head and prying the play-dough open. He rolled two tiny balls up and stuck them over Patrick’s orange eyeballs. “That’s really pretty, Pete,” Pete smiled and began moving his snake around again, the soft hissing noises continuing. 

    “Want a star, Pete? You want a pretty...pretty orange star?” Patrick was currently cutting a star shape out of his play-dough with a cookie cutter and handing it to Pete. “Pretty oonge store! Pretty store, Daddy!” It only took half a second for Pete to realize that he fucked up.

     Patrick stared at him with an expression of horror on his face. Pete snapped out of headspace faster than he ever had before. “Patrick, I’m sorry, I didn’t-“

     “Stop it, Pete, just stop, please. I need...I need to go,” Patrick shoved the play-dough back into its container and closed it, basically running from the room. Not two minutes later, Pete heard the slam of a car door and the sound of an engine starting. Patrick was going, going, going, gone. 

     Almost in a trance, Pete put all the play-dough back into the containers and back into the box. He unclipped his pacifier from his onesie and shoved that in the box, too. The onesie went into the wash, and the slightly wet diaper went into the trash can.

     And then, Pete curled up on the bed in just a pair of sweatpants, and cried. He cried until he couldn’t cry anymore, and then kept on crying. He’d driven Patrick away, the last thing he ever wanted to do. He didn’t know if he could live with himself. 

     At last, he finally went back to his baby box and pulled out a sippy cup, clutching it in his fingers as he made his way to the kitchen.

_____

     Fuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. Pete fucking called him Daddy. Patrick’s fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter, trying his hardest not to blow a gasket and drive off the road. How could he deal with this? What did this mean? He already didn’t understand why Pete wore onesies and diapers and sucked on pacifiers, and then he had to go and call Patrick  _Daddy?_ Fuck, he didn’t know what to do. As he drove aimlessly, Patrick wondered if he should talk to someone about this, then mentally smacked himself because of-fucking-course he should talk to someone about this, and the only person he could talk to about something like this was Andy.

     When he called Andy, nothing he said was coherent, only that he was coming over and needed to talk so please be decent. When he got there, Patrick couldn’t stop the dams from breaking. He went on about Pete being “a little,” as he described it, about how he had awkwardly been caring for Pete, and how Pete had called him Daddy. The first thing out of Andy’s mouth was, “I think you should feel honored,”

     Patrick was confused. He was just about to voice this when Andy held up a hand and said, “Hear me out. I’ve seen this around, and...Pete being a little means he’s part of the BDSM community. It’s about a power exchange, it means Pete trusts you, it means little Pete trusts you. Pete calling you Daddy is basically him saying, “Yes, you can do this to me. Yes, I trust you. I’m giving up the power I had and giving it to you because I trust that you won’t hurt me with it.” It’s a power exchange, Patrick, and it means Pete is comfortable being almost if not completely powerless around you. It means he wants to be vulnerable around you, it means he wants to share this part of him with you, and he wants you to be a part of this. So, yeah, I think you should feel honored,” Patrick was speechless. “But-“

     “I know he could have gone about it better, but this is Pete we’re talking about, he’s always jumped into things headfirst without thinking, and you’re always there to put him back together when he falls apart, and right now, that’s probably what he needs you to do, Patrick. So, I suggest you get up off your sorry ass and drive home to go help your boyfriend,” Andy made a little shooing gesture as Patrick stood, his hands shaking as he fumbled in his pockets for his car keys.

     Against his better judgement, Patrick stopped at a Toys R Us on the way home and picked up a few stuffed animals for Pete, hoping that a peace offering would gain his trust. 

     By the time he got home, it was dark outside (thank you, four-car pileup on the main road) and his nose was cold to the touch. His hands shook as he unlocked the door. When he got in, he noticed that the only light on was in the kitchen. Worry sprang up in his chest. “Pete?” He called, hearing a loud, “Nooooooo!” In response. Instantly, Patrick dropped the bag containing Pete’s toys. “Pete, where are you?”

    “Nooooooooo!”

     Patrick swore loudly as he made his way into the kitchen. Pete sat on he floor, slouched against the island, a sippy cup in one hand and a bottle of whisky in the other. Patrick could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Pete, are you alright?” Patrick set a hand on his bare shoulder. “Nooooooooooooo!” Pete screeched, thrashing around and slapping Patrick’s hand off of him. Patrick’s head was spinning. Was Pete in littlespace? Could he be in littlespace while drunk? What was going on? Deciding that it was best to go to bed and talk about this when Pete was sober, Patrick attempted to pull him up, only receiving a loud, “Nooooooo!” For his efforts.

     “Pete, are you drunk?”  
     “Noooooo!”  
Pete’s voice was high and whiny. “Pete, come on, you’re drunk, let’s go to bed,’”  
     “Nooooooooo!”  
    “....How old are you?”  
     “NOOOOOOOOOO!”  
Patrick got worried faster than he ever thought possible. Pete was almost nonverbal. He technically wasn’t Pete’s Daddy, but if he knew one thing, it was that Pete never regressed this far, not unless something was horribly wrong. 

     Sighing, Patrick attempted to haul Pete over his shoulder, and the attempt failed, but at least he got Pete on his feet. He tried to pull Pete along to the bedroom, but all he got was more screaming and Pete digging his heels into the tile. Accepting his fate, Patrick grabbed Pete round the waist, hoisting him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Pete flailed and kicked and screamed and cried, and Patrick almost lost his grip a few times, but he managed to drag Pete to their bedroom and toss him onto the bed. Pete had stopped screaming, but he was still crying, tiny little sniffly sobs. Scrambling for something to say, he said what he would say to an actual baby, “Stop your fussing, there’s nothing to cry about,” as he grabbed Pete’s baby box. He rummaged around until he found a pacifier that he knew Pete wouldn’t care if it got ruined, an older baby pink one probably bought for him by Ashlee. He slipped the nipple past Pete’s lips and he almost immediately calmed down, his expression softening. 

     He kept one eye on Pete as he changed clothes, making sure he didn’t lash out. As he crawled into bed, he wrapped an arm around Pete and kissed the back of his head. “We’ll figure this out,” he told Pete’s hair, and then, a little louder, “I love you, Pete,” and Pete said, slurred by the pacifier and the alcohol in his veins, “Wove oo, Jaddy,” 

     Those three words were stuck in Patrick’s head as he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


	4. Now I’ve Got a Bellyache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Pete, this is confusing. How do people learn about this shit without getting a headache?” Patrick rubbed his temples, staring at the laptop screen. “We don’t, and usually, we end up with a stomachache after, too, because a lot of times littles, the first time they go into littlespace, eat way too much candy,”  
> “...That has nothing to do with anything I just said, Pete,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from “Bellyache” by Billie Eilish. Also, first smut of the story!

    To say that Pete’s hangover the next day was rough was an understatement. He woke up at the ungodly hour of ten in the morning, tossing whatever was in his stomach (it smelled suspiciously of pizza) into the toilet. Patrick was there soon, stumbling into the bathroom after Pete im a daze, gently rubbing Pete’s back while he tossed cookies. “Fuckin’ hell...” Pete muttered, closing the toilet lid and flushing it. The smell of pizza and bile intensified so much that Patrick almost threw up himself. “Coffee?” Patrick asked gently, running a soothing hand along Pete’s head, which was resting on the toilet lid. “Ugh,” was the answer. “I’ll go make coffee,” 

     Patrick went and made coffee. The coffee machine was ancient, possibly from the early days of the band, and barely managed to sputter to life. He made a mental note to move to Iowa with Pete and marry him so that they’d get one for a wedding gift. Maybe they’d even get the obligatory toaster, or a blender. On second thought, Patrick wouldn’t trust Pete within thirty feet of a blender. Or a toaster. Patrick probably wouldn’t trust Pete with safety scissors.

     Patrick managed to get the coffee machine to sputter out two cups of strong coffee with minimal coffee grounds in them. Patrick poured out about half of Pete’s and filled it the rest of the way with milk and sugar. To him, that wasn’t even coffee, especially because he took his black. When he got back to the bedroom, the curtains were drawn to block out the late morning sunshine, and Pete was sat on theedge of the bed.

     “Hey, Pete, how you doing?” Patrick handed Pete his mug. “I feel like dog shit,” Patrick laughed softly. “I think Hemmy takes offense to that,” he sipped his coffee. It was lukewarm at best. Even Pete cracked a smile. Said dog was currently curled up at the foot of the bed, his belly to the sky and his foot lightly scratching at the air. “Must be one good belly scratch,” Pete said, knocking back half his coffee in one gulp. “So, I guess I have to talk to you about the thing?” Patrick said nothing, sipped his coffee. “I’m too hungover for this,” Pete mumbled, tossing back the rest of his coffee. “We can talk about it after breakfast if you want?” Pete buried his face in Patrick’s shoulder and Patrick felt a surge of protectiveness. “Yeah. We’ll talk about it after breakfast,”

     Breakfast consisted of scrambled eggs and toast with more coffee. Patrick was on his third cup before Pete opened his mouth for anything other than eating. “Lemme go splash some cold water in my face. Sober up a bit,” Patrick swallowed dryly around his toast. He heard the faucet in the hall bathroom turn on and the sound of water splashing before Pete returned, his face still slightly damp. “So. I. Uh. I,” Pete ran a hand down his face, seemingly incapable of anything more than single syllables. “I. Uh. IcalledyouDaddy,” Pete blurted the last part in one breath. Patrick paled and almost threw up everything he just ate. “Yeah. You did,” his voice sounded like he ate sandpaper. “I...” Patrick couldn’t bring himself to say any more. 

     “Patrick, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I should have known better. If...if it’s what you want, I’ll stop regressing entirely. I’ll throw out my baby stuff, the onesies, the diapers, all of it and we can pretend this never happened, and if I ever slip into...into littlespace I’ll just lock myself in the bathroom until I’m back to myself,” Pete sounded extremely opposed to the idea, but Pete hadn’t broken a promise since they’d been together and Patrick was sure Pete wasn’t planning on starting now. “Or. Or. If you’re okay with it. I want you to become my Daddy. My official caregiver, my Daddy. You can have all the time in the world to think and research and google shit and see if you’re ready for it, but...I really, really want you to be my Daddy. This is big me and little me speaking. I love you, and I trust you more than anyone in the world, and I want to share this part of myself with you. I want you to be a part of this side of me. But if you’re not comfortable with it, if you’re not willing, it’s going away entirely. I can’t go back to regressing in secret. I can’t go back to having you awkwardly care for me. I need it all, or I get nothing. I can’t go back to how it was, Patrick. Please, just...think about it,” Patrick could hear the tears in Pete’s voice. “Just please...don’t make me hide again,” And with that, Patrick broke. 

     “Okay,” Patrick said, almost imperceptibly. “I’ll. I’ll be your Daddy, Pete,” Pete’s expression both brightened and fell. “Patrick, that’s a lot of responsibility. It’s not just you feeding me and playing with me and giving me studies. This is...this is changing my diaper and looking after me and...also, well, this is technically a kink. This is-“ Pete’s mouth pressed into a firm line. “This is a part of the BDSM community. This is a power play. This is me submitting completely. If I act out, punishment is a part of this. Sometimes it’s of a more sexual nature, like spanking or some kind of bondage, other times it’s what you’d do to an actual child, like facing the corner or going to bed earlier. I want you to be a part of all of it, the sexual and the non-sexual, the kinky and the vanilla. This is a part of me, Patrick, but there’s so much more that you haven’t seen and I...I haven’t explored. Ashlee hardly spanked me, rarely ever tied me up, all the sex we had was almost completely vanilla, there’s a lot of stuff that I’d like to try that I haven’t yet,” Pete set a hand on Patrick’s. “I want to explore that with you, but we need to research, practice, know what we’re getting into. I can explain some of the more conventional things of CG/l, like a rule set for when I’m in headspace or diaper changes and stuff like that, but we need to spend some time on the Internet, research together and on our own, okay?” Pete stood and Patrick followed suit. 

     “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Patrick said softly, still holding Pete’s hand. “You can back out whenever you need to,” Pete said, stepping closer and trying (failing) to tuck into Patrick’s chest. “I won’t, Pete. I’m not going to do that to you,” Patrick kissed Pete’s cheek, then kissed him full on the mouth, a chaste, loving little peck. “I’m doing this for you,” Pete pulled back slightly, wrapping his arm’s around Patrick’s waist. “Hopefully you end up liking it, too,”

     And so, the research started. CG/l was short for Caregiver/little. Apparently. It was a little-known corner of the BDSM community, and consisted of typically two people, a caregiver, the Dom, and the little, the sub. It could be sexual or non-sexual, but was always a kink. It appeared to be sexual in Pete’s condition, as he had regularly mentioned how he and Ashlee occasionally had sex while Pete was in littlespace. Other things involved were usually spanking, bondage,  watersports (thankfully Pete wasn’t into that), general domination, sadism and masochism, and power play.

     On day four of instensive research (and really, really weird porn), Patrick asked, “Pete, this is confusing. How do people learn about this shit without getting a headache?” Patrick rubbed his temples, staring at the laptop screen. “We don’t, and usually, we end up with a stomachache after, too, because a lot of times littles, the first time they go into littlespace, eat way too much candy,”  
     “...That has nothing to do with anything I just said, Pete,” 

     “I’m just trying to help!”

     Although, apparently, it had everything to do with it, because the first time Patrick posed as Pete’s Daddy, and Patrick noticed that Pete had an affinity for sweet things. “Juicey? Daddy, wan juicey!” Was repeated more times than Patrick could count until he finally relented and filled a sippy cup with juice, which Pete happily dipped on. The day was...fairly uneventful. Pete behaved himself, didn’t make a mess, he ate what Patrick put on his plate without too much complaint. Granted, it was baked fish and fries with enough ketchup to drown a toddler, but he ate it, and even a few bites of the broccoli Patrick put on his plate, before he started spitting it out and refusing to open his mouth, even for the airplane. That trick only worked once.  He didn’t get dessert for that. It was...nice. It felt natural, caring for Pete like this. It felt  _safe._ It felt real, and Patrick was honestly scared how much he enjoyed it. When he kissed Pete goodnight, barely managing to hold Pete above the bed, rocking him slightly (he may have been short, but dammit, Pete was all solid muscle and he was  _heavy_ and Patrick was still slightly soft and definitely not muscle and definitely couldn’t hold Pete for more than a few minutes), Pete said, “Wove you, Daddy,” and kissed him with slightly dry lips. Patrick made a mental note to put some Vaseline on his lips. 

     Patrick slept easier that night than he had in a long while.

_____

     Pete hadn’t been happier since...since, well, the last time he had a caregiver, and even then, he was still happier with Patrick. He even behaved himself and tried his hardest to eat the broccoli Patrick put on his plate, but, dammit, even big Pete refused to eat broccoli on occasion. He was mildly upset when Patrick didn’t give him dessert, but he made up for it by rocking Pete to sleep, and also, rolling over in the morning and muttering, “Morning, sleepyhead. Still in headspace?” Pete groggily shook his head. It was too early to be little, because, dammit, being little took a lot out of him. “Good. I’m not ready to take care of your morning wood while you’re two,”   

     Wait. 

     What?

     Pete didn’t have time to process much before Patrick had him on his back and Pete’s aforementioned morning wood in his mouth. Fuck, but Pete was only human, and Patrick’s mouth was something Pete rarely got to indulge in, between touring and Patrick’s weird obsession with hygiene, Pete rarely got head anymore. That didn’t stop him from lightly twining his fingers in Patrick’s fine red-gold hair, not pulling, just anchoring himself, and thank fuck he hadn’t worn a diaper to sleep because Patrick was able to undo his onesie with ease and just fucking go down on him, snapping him out of his sleepy state.

      Patrick looked like fucking  _sin_ with Pete’s dick in his mouth, lips irritated past their normal pink into bright red, saliva dripping down his chin, blue eyes staring up at him, pupils blown and cyan iris almost gone, just black, a thin ring of blue, and a gold limbal ring, and fuck, Pete could cum just from the look Patrick gave him. Every time Pete tried to buck up into Patrick’s mouth, go a little deeper into his throat, Patrick would grunt irately and hold him down with strong hands over hipbones, forcing him down and pulling off Pete’s cock, looking at him disapprovingly and saying, “Petey, you know better,” and fuck, but that started to throw him into littlespace. 

     When he came, he couldn’t help but moan out, “Daaaaadyyyyyyy....” as his hips bucked uncontrollably. Patrick pulled off, he never swallowed, and some of Pete’s cum landed on his neck and under his chin. Pete giggles tiredly. Daddy had cummies on his face. That was icky. “Daddyyyyyyyy....” he muttered as Patrick wiped himself and Pete off with tissues. “Wan’ play!” He reached out for Patrick, making little grabby motions. 

     “Gotta get a diaper, first, baby, and you need your breakfast,” Patrick said, going back to the box that had since taken up residence in a corner of their bedroom and grabbing a fresh diaper. Pete giggled softly as Patrick powdered him and put the diaper on, fumbling slightly with the sticky parts. It tickled!

     Patrick fed him oatmeal for breakfast, piping hot and slightly sweetened with honey. It reminded Pete of cold nights back in Illinois, cold nights and chilly mornings with oatmeal before heading off to school or band practice and sometimes both, and Pete had a smile on his face through every bite. 

     By the time Pete had finished his oatmeal, he had come out of headspace. “I wanted to talk to you about something, Patrick,” Pete said, pushing away the empty bowl. “I’ve been thinking, since you’ve agreed to be my Daddy, I kind of want...maybe to get some more baby stuff. Not just toys, but like...maybe have a place other than the box to keep the baby stuff. A...a nursery is what I mean, Patrick. We have a spare room, and if any family comes over we can put them up in a hotel, and... I’m just tired of having everything in a box. If you’re not comfortable with having a nursery in the house, that’s fine, but...it’d be a lot more convenient,” 

     Patrick visibly swallowed and Pete’s heart sped up. Oh, shit. Did he just fuck this up by asking for a nursery? Fuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. “I’ll have to think on it. There’s a lot of stuff in that spare room, we’d have to find a place for it, but we can see,” Pete’s heart leapt. He never even had a proper nursery with Ashlee, and now...Pete could finally have what his little heart desired. 

     The rules were stuck to the fridge with magnets, and Pete stared at them for a moment. “No cussing” was one of them, and “take a bath every day” was another. He and Patrick had written them together, and he smiled at the memory. “Hey, Pete?” Patrick said, turning Pete’s eyes away from the list of rules. “Yeah, Trick?” 

     “I love you,”

     “Love you, too, Daddy,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Sorry I haven’t been updating like I should, my little sister is currently in hospital recovering from emergency surgery. She had a blood clot in her lung, but she’s okay now and looks like she’ll make a full recovery! Yay! She’s gonna he okay!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
